The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia

by Philip Sidney

Thus days and nights passed over, as if they had no other sphere than delight to move in; and the appointed time for Amphialus’s marriage was at hand, to which Basilius invited the shepherds, both to change their daily pleasures, as also to show Euarchus that though a greater cause had moved him to the solitary course of life by him embraced, yet the wits of Arcadia, and the pleasantness of their harmless life, might have drawn him to that retiredness.

THE ECLOGUES

Kalodulus now minded to marry his daughter, and uncertain whether he should bestow her on the contended young Arcadian Menalcas, or the much having, much wanting Thessalian Corydon, who both were then present, hearing of this summons; puts over their cause to be determined by Basilius; and Strephon and Claius, no less desirous to bring Urania’s name to court, joined themselves to the rest. Nor was Agelastus wanting, who, not for a mistress, but, Heraclitus-like, thinking man was made to mourn, and repining at the vanity of greatness, had maintained a religious sorrow. No sooner was the company set, and that their silence began to proclaim their expectation, but Strephon, who, before his coming, had prepared an Epithalamium, began thus to sing.

STREPHON

Sweet link of hearts, joy’s surest anchor-hold,

Love’s peaceful crown, the harbour of desires,

Hymen, approach, but think not Pan too bold,

If to invoke thy name our love aspires.

Dwell here for ever, that this couple may

Renew the blessings of their marriage-day.

Firm be their root of love, and cause a bliss,

From forth this royal happy stock to spring;

That all the world may justly say, he is

Worthy to be, and to succeed a king.

But shorten not their days; for ’tis decreed,

The best can be but worthy to succeed.

Amphialus thanked Strephon for his hearty wishes; but he had scarce ended, when Claius, looking upon him with as sour a countenance as their friendship could allow, thus said:

CLAIUS

I pray thee, Strephon, if these glorious shows

Of court’s admired greatness, do not close

Thy mind from former thoughts, where can thy lays

Find other subject than Urania’s praise?

Or, dost thou fondly think, thou wert to blame

To breathe among these lords Urania’s name?

Or, is it certain that her flames in thee

Are quench’d, that lately doubled were in me?

STREPHON

Nor so, nor thus; that verse I last day made,

As with my flock I sat in Hestar’s shade:

I studied it, yet all my study was,

I vow, to strive to let Urania pass.

For ’twas the only name my pen would write,

My thoughts imagine, or my lips indite.

Am I not bold when night’s vast stage is set,

And all the stars and heavenly audience met,

To speak my mind, while their bright twinkling flame

Seems to rejoice to hear Urania’s name?

And shall I fear that what the heaven’s approv’d,

By men (though great men) should be disallow’d?

But where you think that I have check’d mine eye,

And freed your Strephon from their treachery:

O no, mine is the giant Titius’s maw,

That doth increase to feel a vulture’s paw.

CLAIUS

No day runs over, but my love’s deep sore

Renews his pain, and festers more and more:

Alas! where’s pity then? belike it flies

The place we come to, frighted with our cries.

STREPHON

Pity! why friend, ’tis certain that their eyes,

Who know they can o’ercome, learn to despise:

Yet, Claius, why should we repine? our saint

Is pleas’d sometime to hear our love’s complaint.

And if mine eyes, to ease my inward pain,

Become not flatterers, she doth not disdain.

CLAIUS

Disdain! that were a bliss, so great a weight

Might lift our sorrows to their utmost height;

And then, perhaps, our own despair would mend

Our ling’ring hopes, that must or break, or bend.

O no, ours is a worse calamity,

A heedless care, and careless courtesy.

Then Claius pausing a while, with crossed arms and a downcast look, began again these following verses to Strephon, whom he spoke to as representing the person of sorrow.

CLAIUS

Foul Sorrow, wilt thou alway build thy nest

In the wild mountains of thy care-swollen breast?

STREPHON

O yes, I find it happy for my breed,

And near your heart, whereon I use to feed.

CLAIUS

But, gentle grief, if not for pity, spare

Me for Urania’s sake: she hath a share

In these my wounds, and she must feel the smart,

Whose image’s carv’d so lively in my heart.

STREPHON

O no, she shares no pain, from whose fair eyes

The wound did first, and now the cure must rise.

CLAIUS

Why, gentle grief, thou’rt witness of my love;

Then always sigh my plaints, until you move.

STREPHON

O no, there’s too much rigor in such laws,

They bind a man to speak against his cause.

Suppose I move, this is my recompense;

Joy must succeed, and I am banish’d hence.

CLAIUS

Then must I die unpitied, no help’s found,

Since you, my spokesman, do conceal my wound.

STREPHON

O no, let not that make us to despair:

She knows we love her, but she knows she’s fair.

When they ended, Musidorus (in whose memory their courtesy to him, had engraven a beholdingness) forgot not to approve what they had said. But the audience had little time to determine whether they deserved what the Prince thought them worthy of, when Corydon, who longed to hear the debate between him and Menalcas, for Kalodulus’s daughter, ended, clapping him on the shoulder, thus said:

CORYDON

Fond beardless boy! now shall the chastisement

(Fit for thy rash youth’s unweigh’d attempt)

Fall heavy on thee; but you may relent,

I’ll not be cruel if you do repent.

O no, you will not, you’ll be always blind,

That graceless smile betrays thy scornful mind.

Sing then, and show these goodly dotes in thee,

With which thy brainless youth can equal me.

MENALCAS

Grey-bearded frenzy, what canst thou allege,

To shun my blows, but thy age’s privilege?

Thy tongue may safely snarl, while his offence

Is still protected by that reverence.

The dotes, old dotard, I can bring to prove

Myself deserves that choice, are only love.

A priceless treasure, not to be express’d,

A guest too great for thy cough-breeding breast.

CORYDON

Young man, thou speak’st as if thy brains were wood;

Who can determine of that inward good?

I say, I love, and will Menalcas grieve

That all the world should Corydon believe?

But, that’s not it, these flames will soon decay,

If they be not maintain’d some other way.

A thousand sheep I have, whose snow-white fleece,

Do add a lustre to these parts of Greece:

On whom as many lambs do wait hard by,

That wear their dams white curled livery.

O! what a joy will’t be to her I love;

Each morn, and even, to see her sheep remove

From field to fold, while she may freely say,

That lamb is fat, that lamb I’ll eat to-day?

MENALCAS

Blind fortune, I’ll confess, hath given you more:

Yet I am richer, my content’s my store.

A thousand sheep thou hast, ’tis very like,

But thy diseases want Arithmetic.

Nature between our years a marriage made,

We bloom together, and at once may fade.

But your old age is gone too far before,

Time beats you on, and you’ll return no more.

CORYDON

Hasty young man, do not despise the end

To which yourself, as to a centre, bend.

What, if I want your body’s active toys,

My settled mind a greater good enjoys.

MENALCAS

Old man, thou speak’st, as if thy brains were wood;

Who can determine of that inward good?

Think’st thou, will that sweet beauty take delight

To hear thee cough a proverb in the night?

O no, there are some other joys in bed,

She must partake whom you desire to wed.